


I'm Okay, You're Okay

by alenie



Series: You Are Like the Night [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenie/pseuds/alenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So my dad thinks I’m dating someone,” Stiles says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Okay, You're Okay

Stiles is on the couch watching crappy TV with his dad when his phone buzzes in his pocket, signaling an incoming text. He digs it out.

 _unknown number:_ _how was dinner?_

He drops his phone and has to scramble to pick it up again. There’s only one person it could be from. _Derek._ He saves the number as _fuzzbucket_ and then reopens the text and hits reply.

_how did you get my number???_

His phone buzzes again in less than a minute.

 _fuzzbucket:_ _from Isaac_

_you asked Isaac for my number?_

_fuzzbucket:_ _not exactly_

“Stiles? I thought you and Scott were on a break.”

Stiles snaps his head up to find his dad staring at him.

“We are,” he says, confused.

“Then who are you texting?”

It’s kind of pathetic, the way his dad knows that Scott is the only one he ever texts.

“Um. No one?”

“If it’s no one, then you won’t mind showing me your phone.”

Stiles practically clutches his phone to his chest.

“Maybe it is someone,” he admits. “Do we have to talk about it right now?”

His dad mutes the TV and gives him what Stiles likes to call his “concerned parent” look.

“If you’re dating someone, I’d like to know about it.”

Stiles fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m not dating anyone.”

“Is that an _I’m not dating anyone, period_ or _I’m not dating anyone, yet_?"

Nuts.

“Um, the second one? Maybe? I mean, I don’t actually know. It’s- if it’s something. It’s sort of a very new thing. I didn’t even know I wanted there to be something, but then, well. I think I do.”

His cheeks are burning, and it’s a struggle to stop the words spilling out his mouth. He chews nervously on the skin at the edge of his thumbnail.

“What’s her name? It’s not Lydia, is it?”

“Oh my god, no, dad, it is not Lydia. Can we stop with the twenty questions? I really don’t want to talk about it. Not that there’s anything to talk about! Because there isn’t. ”

Mercifully, his dad lets him drop the subject. Stiles fiddles with his phone in his pocket, but leaves it be. His stomach feels like a big ball of nervous excitement. _Dating_. He hadn’t really considered dating as something that he and Derek might do. Does Derek even _want_ to date him? Does he even want to date Derek? Because dating and Derek are two words that just don’t seem to go well together.

He’s still thinking about Derek and dating when he says goodnight to his dad and heads up to his room. As much as he tries, he can’t really picture Derek having a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, because there’s no rule that says Stiles is the only bisexual in town. Derek’s not exactly been forthcoming about his sexuality. Or about anything, really.

 If Derek was in a movie, he’d probably play the mysteriously intense, moodily hot guy who has a ton of one night stands and breaks all their hearts.  

Stiles gets into bed trying to picture what movie-character-Derek’s type would be, and ends up picturing Derek naked instead. It’s not that hard. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Derek shirtless before. There was even that one time when Stiles _made him strip for Danny_ in Stiles’ room. And really, it’s like Derek gets offended by shirts or something, the way he parades around shirtless at a moment’s notice. He doesn’t seem to get along well with pants, either. He wears those super-tight jeans a lot of the time and they do a great job of showing off his ass but they look kind of constricting and uncomfortable. Not that Stiles has thought about Derek’s ass a lot, because he’s been preoccupied with other things. Like not being eaten by Derek. Or paralyzed by giant lizards. Or bitten by certain people’s insane uncles. Or-

No, never mind that.

Stiles’ hand slips under his t-shirt and traces along the waistband of his boxers. He hasn’t jerked off in over a week and a half, which is probably the longest he’s gone since he went through puberty.

He hasn’t been in the mood.

Would it be okay to jerk off to Derek? Once he tried thinking about Danny while he did it, just because hey, Danny’s hot, and then Stiles saw him at school the next day and it was awful. Like, he couldn’t even look him in the face.

Even Scott could tell something was wrong.

He’d gotten off to it at the time, though, and it’d felt so good that it had almost been worth the embarrassment. Just thinking about it now is enough to give him a half-chub. Tentatively, he reaches down and cups himself over his boxers, imagining what it’d be like to have someone else touch him.

What it’d be like to have _Derek_ touch him.

His mouth falls open and he tips his head back into the pillow as he sneaks his hand under his waistband. Stiles gives himself a few experimental tugs before deciding that yes, this is definitely happening. He wriggles out his boxers and digs a bottle of lotion out of his nightstand to slick his hand. He strokes himself slowly at first, eyes closed, thinking. Does Derek- who is he kidding, Derek’s a dude- well, a werewolf dude- of course he jerks off. He has to. Probably a lot, with all that pent-up anger.

Right?

And oh man, thinking about Derek rubbing one out is terminally hot. Stiles pulls his legs up so his knees are bent and plants his feet flat on the bed, legs spread. He’s found through copious trial and error that this is one of the positions that feels the best. He keeps stroking himself and he lets his other hand wander down to cup and lightly tug at his balls.

One finger accidentally slips over the soft skin just behind his balls and Stiles’ hips involuntarily jerk up off the bed, because that’s close to new territory for him. He’s watched a lot of porn and he’s seen enough guys take it up the ass to know that he’s probably destined to bottom, but…he’s never tried fingering himself, never really touched himself there, except for the quickest brush of fingers in the shower when he’s washing.

He screws his eyes shut tighter and presses his face into the soft skin of his upper arm, trying to muffle the harsh noise of his breathing. It doesn’t matter. He’s stroking himself quickly enough by now that the wet _slap-slap_ of skin on skin is clearly audible.

Fuck, but he wants to know how Derek jerks off. If he likes to play with his balls, like Stiles does. If he makes noises. If he- Stiles is already getting close, panting and kind of sweaty, so when he summons his courage and firmly presses the pads of two fingers against his asshole, he comes with a quiet moan almost instantly, spilling over into his hand.

~

He doesn’t see Derek again for another couple of days, but then comes a night when his dad’s at the station and Stiles is home alone and he’s anxious and fidgety and he’s texting Derek before he can stop himself.

_what are you doing tonight?_

_fuzzbucket: I’m at the library. Why?_

_no reason_

_fuzzbucket: stiles._

_fuzzbucket: what’s wrong?_

_nothing. I just. I dunno._

_fuzzbucket: are you home alone?_

_yeah_

_creeper_

_fuzzbucket: I’m coming over, okay?_

_k_

Stiles puts his phone down and tries to focus on his chemistry homework.

Twenty minutes later, after he’s completed exactly one problem, his phone beeps.

_fuzzbucket: I’m at the front door. Come let me in._

Stiles heads down the stairs. He pulls back the deadbolt and opens the door and there’s Derek, standing on his front porch, looking intimidating, as per usual. He steps inside and locks the house up tight again, and then they’re just standing there looking at each other awkwardly.

“What were you doing before I got here?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. “Homework.”

“For what class?”

“Chemistry.”

“Need any help?”

When Stiles stares at him, Derek adds, “It was my best subject in high school.”

That’s how they end up sitting together on Stile’s bed, while Stiles tries his best to balance chemical equations while Derek watches and offers advice. Stiles is just _not getting it_ , and after a few minutes he sighs, exasperated.

“Here,” Derek says. He leans over, plucks the pencil from Stiles’ hand, draws a line beneath Stiles’ work, and starts writing. His handwriting is neat and compact, much tidier than Stiles’ scrawl.

In about thirty seconds he has a beautiful balanced equation.

“Woah. How did you do that? That’s totally cheating!”

Derek’s shoulder is still pressed against Stiles’, so he can feel it when Derek laughs.

“It’s not that hard. You’re just trying to do too much of it in your head.”

“That’s how you did it,” Stiles objects.

“We can’t all be as smart as me,” Derek deadpans. “Okay, look. You’ve got to draw a table.”

He sketches it out on Stiles’ paper. “Write down all your elements, and the number of atoms they have before and after the reaction. Then when you start trying to balance the equation, you keep a running inventory, and that way you won’t get confused.”

Derek offers Stiles his pencil back.

“Try it for yourself.”

Derek’s method actually works really well, and Stiles’ chemistry homework goes much smoother. He does get stuck a few times, but it’s not as bad as before, and it doesn’t take him long to finish the problem set.

“Thanks,” he says. “That would have taken a lot longer without your help.”

They’re definitely leaning against each other now, and Stiles figures this is as good a time as any to bring up what’s on his mind.

“So my dad thinks I’m dating someone,” he says, and nervously waits for Derek’s reaction.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, um. And I was wondering if that’s what we’re doing? Because this has all been kind of weird, but you keep touching me and I can’t stop thinking about it and it’s _confusing_.”

“Would you like it if we were?”

“Dude, stop answering my questions with questions. Are we or are we not dating?”

“Yes,” Derek says firmly, and gives him a look that could almost be called flirtatious. “If that’s what you want?”

“ _Derek,_ ” Stiles says. “That’s a question! Not allowed! But…yes.”

He yawns enormously and his jaw cracks.

 “Do you want me to go?” Derek asks.

“Okay, full disclosure here, I’m tired, yeah, but my dad’s not going to be home for another couple of hours at least, and I kind of have this thing where I don’t like to be by myself at night anymore.”

Derek stays, and through mutual unspoken agreement they end up cuddling, much like they did that first night, now almost three weeks ago. Derek sits up against the headboard and Stiles leans into his side, enjoying Derek’s warmth.

 “This is nice,” Stiles says sleepily. “Hey. Are you going to kiss me? We’re dating. Shouldn’t there be kisses?”

He’s not too sleepy to miss noticing the way Derek tenses under him.

“There doesn’t have to be,” he adds, and pets reassuringly at Derek’s arm. “We can just do this, I don’t mind. Don’t- don’t go.”

“I- it’s been a while. Since I’ve kissed anyone.”

“That’s okay. We can suck at it together.”

Derek turns to look at him, and their faces are only inches apart.

“You’ve never been kissed?” he asks.

Stiles tilts his face up to Derek’s.

“No. Not yet.”

Derek’s lips are soft and gentle. Stiles lets him take the lead, and tries to mimic his movements, investigating the fullness of Derek’s bottom lip.

Derek pulls away after only a scant minute of kissing.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” he says, and presses his palm to Stiles’ chest.

“Does that freak you out or something? I’m okay. More than okay, even. Are _you_ okay?”

Derek slides his hand up Stiles’ chest to the bare skin of his collarbone.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”


End file.
